


Mister Holmes the Younger

by redtaxi



Series: Mister Holmes the Younger: Adventures [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A little bit cracky, Detectives, F/M, Gen, Older Sherlock, Parentlock, a case!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-08 11:14:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtaxi/pseuds/redtaxi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie Watkins meets Mister Holmes the Younger. Parentlock, sherlolly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mister Holmes the Younger

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my odd ones. Trying to humorous but perhaps, just missing the mark. I wrote it right after The Sign of Three but the Last Vow crushed me so wholeheartedly, I hadn't thought to posting it with much excitement. That being said, I also think its a little poorly written but your judgement shall be better than mine own.
> 
> This is set in a wonderful sherlolly-marriage utopia.
> 
> For you, lovely sherlollians.

Panic is the essence of rush.

Or in the case of Charles Watkins, it was the motive behind his speeding steps towards Westminster.

With the deadline made, 48 hours passed, not including the 71 minutes it took him to search down the address, board a train and rush over here, Charles Watkins was starting to feel that luck was on his side.

Until he tried the doorbell, of course. The buzzer rang out, he could hear it but there was no scuttling to the door. He gave it a fourth try but not before, an audience of the cafe goers began to glare at the man maniacally thrusting his finger into the cracked button.

"Oh for Gods sakes---"

Watkins twisted the door handle aggressively, storming inside before he met head first into an unusually warm wall. A talking one too, for that matter.

"Oi! I was coming! You don't have to barge---"

"Holmes---Sherlock Holmes--" Watkins gasped, paying no mind to the old lady's complaints.

He sought out her readiness and was blessed as the lady turned a finger towards the staircase. He might have choked on relief.

"Upstairs----two minutes, I would have been there in two minutes--" The lady began to grumble but he had already began his speedy ascent up the stairs. 

For the first time that morning, Watkins felt a bubble of hope rise up in his chest as he pushed against the ajar door on the second floor.

It was tragic how it happened to burst instantly as he took his first step into the flat.

The room was in working conditions, newspapers scattered over the sofa, a coffee table lined with cups but no mess could make up for the absence of an obvious resident. That was until Watkins noticed, among the chaos, a small boy with his back turned away from him. 

The boy, [ _no more than ten, eleven, twelve?_ ] swivelled his head around to face the unexpected guest. He gave Watkins a passing look of disinterest before leaping up to his feet.

"Sit."

Watkins couldn't help his gaping mouth nor did it seem that his legs were in working order either but nevertheless, the young boy repeated his command, sharper than before.

"Sit---please". The boy's manners came out as if they were an afterthought but it was enough to push Watkins into the nearest sofa.

He plonked down, nervous hands wrangled themselves tightly in his lap as he stared, baffled by the young boy now fitting himself into an opposing leather armchair.

Watkins was made ever so aware of this boy's youth, as his pale legs dangled above the floor, the leather chair dwarfing his small body. 

Despite all this, the boy managed to squeeze back into the chair before lifting his hands to sit underneath his chin, in a manner quite unsuited to his age.

"Err, should you be--" Watkins began,

"What's the problem?" The boy interrupted rudely but Watkins, too puzzled, too lost to question his reality, spat out his nerves in a heaving ramble.

"She's gone----she’s supposed to be home but I don't think she came back. I know I should have waited up but---"

Watkins soon realised that the boy gave no attention to his words but rather, was staring blatantly at his bottom half, his unwashed trackies and dirty runners. He shifted uncomfortably under this intense gaze.

"I called everyone but she's not there, she's gone---she's--"

"Dog!" 

"---What?"

"Dog hair, you're covered in it." The boy exclaimed in a squeak.

Watkins looked down at his scuffed pants, rubbing his hands over his thighs anxiously, "Yeah--Jacky, my dog. She's gone missing--"

"What breed is she?" The boy got curious, fiddling excitedly in his chair.

"Err--Shih Tzu--look, I need--" 

"Oh." The boy's shoulders fell considerably, Watkins, picking up on his disappointment instantly.

"Mum says we can't have a dog till Toby dies." The boy blew out exaggeratedly, his brown curls bouncing off his forehead. 

"Right." The boyish gesture pushed Watkins back into reality. _H_ _e's just a lad._ "Listen, you wouldn't know if Sherlock Holmes is--"

The hands under the chin were back with vengeance, as the boy turned sharp eyes upon Watkins, completely devoid of that boyish glee before. "Why'd you let her go?"

Shocked by the sudden accusation, Watkins bit back somewhat childishly, "I didn't--I mean I did, she likes to go out for a bit. Always comes back though."

"You should be careful. Dogs always go on adventures." 

"Jacky doesn't."

"Maybe she got bored. It's very easy for dogs to get bored, you know." The boy tilted his head at Watkins with an innocent look. 

Watkins looked positively offended at the suggestion. "My dog  _wasn't bored._ "

"And she's a small dog and they get lost in sewers all the time! One time, John found a puppy near the Embankment and Mary said I could keep it 'cos they had the baby then but--"

Watkins jumped off the sofa onto his feet before snapping loudly, "Listen! I haven’t got time to flap about with some kid about puppies! I need to see Sherlock Holmes." 

"William."

A deep voice turned their heads towards the entrance, Watkins’s eyes widened with recognition as the coated detective stepped into the flat.

While Watkins gaped at the sight of Sherlock Holmes, the graying detective he only knew through newspaper snippets, pub gossip, the accusing boy (whose mop of hair now looked decidedly familiar) only stiffened in his chair, his eyes bashfully kept low.

"What are you doing?"

Watkins darted between the two of them, eyeing them carefully, almost in anticipation of a fight.

"Case." The boy did not mince his words but spoke them only to the front of Watkins, blatantly ignoring the detective by the door.

This isn't the first time, Watkins thought as he watched Sherlock Holmes breathed stiffly through his nose.

"Mrs. Hudson will need you downstairs. Her soothers are about to kick in." Holmes said sternly, walking over to the leather armchair, he pointedly gestured towards the door.

The boy took only a dawdling moment, a short " _Hurry up then_ " from his father before he began a heavy walk towards the stairs.

The detective turned his attention to Watkins whose eyes were still trained on the retreating boy, "Now---" Holmes ran his eyes over Watkins, "missing dog?"

"Mm-what? Oh yep, yeah Jacky, my dog." Watkins mumbled.

"Uncommon choice of dog for a bricklayer, a Maltese."

Before Watkins could correct him, a tiny voice called out from the stairs. "SHIH TZU!"

"MRS. HUDSON!" The detective bellowed back, the noise of scuttling feet followed quickly after. 

Watkins looked around cautiously, his hands gave a nervous twist as he shared a faint smile with the man opposite, "He’s yours, then eh?”

The detective was still watching the door, waiting for something, [a clear slam of the door downstairs rattled the house], before answering darkly,

“Oh  _yes_ , he's definitely mine."

**Author's Note:**

> A tiny backstory, for it may not appear in this story but I have a theory that Young William was previously invited on cases, encouraged even but as of late, his skills have been showing up old papa, much to his mother's amusement. Sherlock is less inclined to have him tagging along now. But go with whatever flows your sherlolly ship.
> 
> Thank you again for reading, you beauties.


End file.
